


a little mulch of letters

by liionne



Series: A thousand ways to meet [35]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Military, Pen Pals, mentions of violence and domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 01:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1491109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liionne/pseuds/liionne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every week they would send a letter, and every week Jim would be bouncing out of his seat waiting for his reply. Miss Lacey always saved the letters until after lunch, so even though Jim would know that there was a letter waiting for him every Tuesday, he still had to wait what felt like forever to hear from Leonard again.</p><p>   pen-pal au</p>
            </blockquote>





	a little mulch of letters

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, and maybe a little crappy because I'm dying of what i think might be plague, and this is what happened.
> 
> Title take from the quote:  
> "A friendship can weather most things and thrive in thin soil; but it needs a little mulch of letters and phone calls and small, silly presents every so often - just to save it from drying out completely."  
> — Pram Brown

It started when they were little. Miss Lacey came round and made everyone pick a name out of a little blue Tupperware dish that she kept calling a "hat" but Jim could see with his own eyes that it definitely was a hat; it was a Tupperware dish, like the ones his mom put grapes in. But he didn't tell her that, because he'd been told to do less shouting out in class as it was.

"Pick one name out of the hat, and that's the person you're writing to." She said. Everyone already had their paper, and the crayons had been even distributed around the desks for them all.

Jim plucked his name out of the hat and read it carefully: Leonard M.

When the "hat" was empty, Miss Lacey held it in front of her, in her lap.

"Alright, now off you go."

Everyone started scribbling right away, but Jim had to think. He wasn't going to rush this. In the end, he settled for:

_Dear Leonard,_

_My name is James Tiberius Kirk. I am six years old, and I like dogs._

_from, Jim._

He drew a picture of a dog to illustrate, and handed his letter to Miss Lacey, who told him that the dog was beautiful, and that she'd send it off to Leonard as soon as she could.

It was a week before Jim got a reply. The letter from Leonard said:

_Dear Jim,_

_My name is Leonard Horatio McCoy. I am seven years old, and I like dogs too. My favourite food is ice cream. Do you like ice cream?_

_from, Leonard._

There was a drawing of three dogs and a boy underneath, each with their own label: "jess", "mollie", "dover" and "me". The drawings were coloured in, too.

Jim knew he was going to have to up his game.

The next time, Jim sent a letter that read:

_"Dear Leonard,_

_I like ice cream lots. Chocolate is my favourite, and I like it with chocolate syrup on top. When I grow up, I want to be a space man. What do you want to be?_

_from, Jim._

And on the bottom he drew a very detailed and labelled drawing og himself as a space-man, with a rocket ship and a shaded background and a dog in a astronaut costume and everything, to which Leonard responded:

_"Dear Jim,_

_I like chocolate, but I like strawberry the best. When I grow up, I want to be a person that digs for dinosaur bones. Do you like play tig?_

_from, Leonard."_

And underneath was a lovely drawing of Leonard and his dogs digging for bones, with the label "pailyentolojist" next to it.

Jim didn't have a clue what that meant, but he decided right then that he liked Leonard a lot.

Every week they would send a letter, and every week Jim would be bouncing out of his seat waiting for his reply. Miss Lacey always saved the letters until after lunch, so even though Jim would know that there was a letter waiting for him every Tuesday, he still had to wait what felt like _forever_ to hear from Leonard again.

But the pen-pals only lasted as long as elementary school; Jim knew he couldn't have that. So in his final letter, he asked Leonard for his address (which he thoughtfully added on the back, so that his teacher, Mrs. Carter, couldn't see). Leonard was obviously as invested in the friendship as Jim was, because he wrote back with his address in tiny writing at the bottom of the page.

And so Jim continued to write to him. He had a hell of a lot of trouble making friends in middle school, seeing as he was always bouncing off the walls and doing stupid shit and starting fights. Leonard was the only friend Jim had.

And he was his friend. Really, he was. Jim could tell Leonard anything. He told him when his mom remarried, told him how he thought Frank was a slob and an ass and how he wished he'd leave and never come back. He wrote a whole damn essay on him, four sides of A4.

Leonard had obviously read every single word of it too, because when Jim got his reply, it was on three sides of A4 and Leonard had responded to every single thing he'd said.

They'd exchanged numbers, of course, but agreed only to call in cases of dire emergency.

The first time Frank hit him hard, Jim called.

"...Jim?" Leonard asked.

Jim was fourteen. He noted how deep Leonard's voice was even though he was only actually fifteen himself, how rich and Southern it sounded. Through the shock and the sound of Leonard's voice, it took him a while to respond.

"He hit me, Bones." Jim said. His voice was ragged, and low. Cracked. "He hit me with a beer bottle."

There was a pause at the end of the line, long enough for Jim to wonder if they'd been cut off. But then Leonard replied, sounding obviously incredulous- "He did _what_?"

Jim recounted the whole story. How he'd been held back at school for a detention and come home to find Frank drunk, as usual, and when he'd asked where Jim had been, and Jim had explained, he'd threw the bottle at him.

"Hit me square on the jaw." Jim rasped.

"Put some ice on it. Frozen peas, or something." Leonard told him. He'd long ago given up on being a paleontologist; he wanted to be a doctor now, like his dad. "To keep the swelling down."

They talked on the phone every night after that. Jim's mom was never there, but she always paid his phone bill, which he was grateful for. She might have let Jim's older brother run away, married the cruelest hobo in the whole city and then left Jim alone with him all day and all night, but at least she let him have that one thing.

Leonard called Jim as soon as he got into Ole' Miss to tell him the good news, said he was really going to be a doctor, it was actually going to happen. Jim called when he graduated high school not long after, told him how he honest to god thought he wasn't going to make it. He was the prime candidate for flunking out and failing everything.

"I've joined the army." Jim told him. It was late, nearing midnight, but Jim couldn't sleep. Leonard assured him that Jim wasn't keeping him up or anything, so he felt free to talk. "I'm going to be a soldier."

Silence at the end of the line. Jim could just barely hear Bones breathing.

"But why?" He asked eventually.

Jim smiled a little. He wasn't sure why; it was hardly something to laugh about. "I want to." He responded.

"Your dad was in the army." Leonard stated. There was more silence, and Jim's smile faded. "That have anything to do with it?"

Jim pressed his lips into a thin line, and rolled onto his stomach. "Maybe."

Jim called him again the night before he was due to ship out.

"I'd see you off if I could, Jim."

"I know, Bones."

They promised to call, to write, but of course it all fell apart. Jim went on so many tours of Iraq that he lost count, and when he fell into his bunk on a night, he was too exhausted to write. He wanted to; he had taken every letter Bones had ever written him along with him, to read every so often. Even though they'd called, they still wrote. Bones had called it a tradition, said they had to keep it going. Jim had called him crazy, but he certainly hadn't argued.

Of course he was injured eventually; it was always going to happen. A bullet wound to the leg kept him hospital bound for longer than he would have liked. The nurse on duty asked him every day if there was anyone she could call for him, but Jim couldn't remember Leonard's number.

He knew then, after months of separation, that what they'd had wasn't exactly platonic. Or at least, Jim didn't think it was. He waited every day for Leonard's call, phone in hand, wanting so much to speak to him but not daring to call first. He'd laughed at every shitty joke Leonard had made, they'd shared the deepest, darkest secrets imaginable. Jim had told Leonard about Frank, about the daily beatings and the blind eye his mother gave to it all; Leonard had told Jim about his failed experience with Jocelyn in the hay loft, about how she'd spread the rumor that he was gay, and the beating the football team gave him on his way home from school nearly every night for the next three weeks. They trusted each other way everything; Jim would trust Leonard with his life.

When his active duty ended, Jim didn't return to Iowa. There was nothing there for him, not anymore. His mother had left a long time ago, as had Sam, and his dad. He could go back to Frank; he was sure he'd find him in the same chair in front of the tv, just surrounded by more beer bottles, but he was never going back to that house again, not as long as he lived.

So instead, he went to Georgia.

He couldn't remember Leonard's address or his phone number, but he knew he lived in Atlanta. Somewhere. He didn't even know if he was still there; he might have stayed up in Mississippi after college.

It was by chance that he saw the advert in a store window on his way to the apartment he was supposed to be staying in:

_HANDYMAN NEEDED_  
 _handyman wanted for old ranch house, includes lodging, board and equipment._

Underneath were the address and the telephone number of the owner of the old ranch house in question.

The address seemed oddly familiar.

Jim hadn't even been to his new apartment yet, but he caught a cab out to the house anyway.

It was huge; a big whit house, with blue shutters and a massive wrap-around porch. It was falling into disrepair, sure, but it was still beautiful. The type of place Jim had always wanted to live.

The type of place he'd imagined Leonard living.

He rang the doorbell, but when he didn't hear anything, he knocked.

The man who came to the door took Jim's breath away. He looked a little tired, and somewhat wary, dark bangs falling into hazel eyes. his lips were turned down in a half-frown, and Jim knew he stared for a little too long.

"I'm here about the add." he said, when he realised he had stared for far too long without actually saying anything. He shouldered his bag, and held out his hand. "Jim Kirk."

The other's face blanched a little. He took the hand with a thick swallow. "Leonard McCoy."

Jim could feel his heartbeat in his throat, could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He gave him a firm hand shake, like he was taught to so long ago, and then wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans.

"So you're- you're here about the handyman position?" Leonard asked.

Jim nodded.

"You very handy?" Leonard asked again. He hadn't invited Jim in yet, but that was a very distant though in Jim's mind.

"Well, yeah." He said, nodding. He wiped his palms on his thighs again, trying to seem nonchalant about it. "I used to fix up my old home in Iowa. I've been- been to Iraq, done a couple tours, but I doubt I'll be any less handy."

Leonard stared. Flat out stared, no apologies, no excuses. Jim wondered if this was what he was doing when he paused so often on the phone; just staring, straightening out his thoughts.

"You son of a bitch." Leonard murmured.

And before Jim could even respond, Leonard's lips were on his, hands cupping his face and holding it firmly and gently all at the same time, like he was the most precious thing in the world, and Jim didn't argue. Not even a little bit.


End file.
